


The Widow’s Dance

by annaamelie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, I have a thing for assassin ballerinas, Romance, Widowtracer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annaamelie/pseuds/annaamelie
Summary: Widowmaker is the world's most notorious assassin, the epitome of deadly elegance. Affected by neither emotion nor remorse, Widowmaker is the ideal killing machine. Little does the spider know that her world will fall apart after a dangerous encounter. (OW fanfic/WidowTracer)
Relationships: Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 9
Kudos: 86





	1. The Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to my WidowTracer fanfic! It is the very first fanfic I ever created and it is still ongoing c: This story is also posted on FanFiction.Net if you prefer that platform!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to my WidowTracer fanfic! It is the very first fanfic I created and it is still ongoing c: This story is also posted on FanFiction.Net if you prefer that platform!

Chapter 1: The Mission

_Un. Deux. Trois._

A midnight glow peered through a small window. The reflection of a glooming spider upon a blue surface shimmered beautifully.

A booming crack erupted from an airship shooting range. Her eyes were an intimidating red as she scoped in, whilst she gently tapped her finger against the metallic surface of the rifle. A succession of shots and the sound of training bots dropping to the floor rattled through the otherwise eerie silence. A familiar mist caught the corner of her eye.

"Coming to admire my marksmanship, _la Faucheuse_?" Widowmaker purred in her signature French accent.

"You wish, spider," Reaper said. "You might want to call it a night. The boss has informed me to personally deliver your next mission." Reaper beckoned Widowmaker towards a sealed envelope, which caused her to raise an eyebrow.

"Will you be coming along?"

"This is a one-man job. Apparently, Talon is starting to notice that we don't exactly work together too well."

That was an understatement. Their past missions, with a few exceptions, have not succeeded. They were in a tight place when they had to inform their superiors about the failed attempt at stealing Doomfist's gauntlet. Let's not even mention Katya Volskaya's assassination attempt.

"Hm. I assume they don't want any distractions in this mission," Widowmaker blankly replied while taking the glossy envelope from Reaper's grasp.

Reaper shot back, "I don't think I'm the distraction here."

Widowmaker faintly smiled. It disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared. Yet, it was enough for Reaper to notice. "Very witty. You think so highly of me," Widowmaker slowly replied, making careful note to enunciate her words. Then, in a flash, she slung her rifle over her shoulder and grappled onto the next story.

Reaper couldn't help but smirk underneath his mask of indifference. As much as he had wanted to shove Widowmaker off a cliff sometimes, he had grown increasingly used to her presence. She was one of the few people who was completely unfazed by Reaper's demeanor and appearance, which made Reaper gain respect for the assassin. Even if she was only unfazed by the man because her ability to be fazed was systematically suppressed.

Widowmaker walked to her desk and carefully removed the sealant and opened the contents of her envelope.

It was a picture of a little girl and baby boy. Innocence and Pessah Hale. _5 and 3 months old._

This was interesting. Widowmaker possessed more single-hand confirmed kills than anyone else in the world. Almost all of her targets were buried in the deepest corners of her mind, unless they were extra rewarding- like that Omnic in King's Row. Widowmaker sifted through the faces of dozens of men and women in her mind, but she could not recall ever killing a child before.

" _Why would Talon want me to kill children?_ " Widow thought. She quickly pushed the thought away. She never had second thoughts when it came to a target. She never questioned her superiors. Never. The children are enemies of Talon, and therefore they need to be eliminated.

Widowmaker picked up the paper and continued to read the description. She would have to go to King's Row again. Widowmaker recognized the father's name. Remus Hale, cofounder of an international telecommunications agency. Widowmaker, as usual, wasn't filled with the details of why she had to end the targets' lives. She just assumed that Remus was prodding too deep into Talon's business, and executing his children would send a very personal message.

Widowmaker posted her rifle next to her bed, and went to sleep.


	2. The Huntress

Everyone who knew of Widowmaker almost exclusively referred to her as _The Huntress._ Once she had her eyes on her prey, she stalked them relentlessly until they drew their final, quiet breath. You never knew _The Huntress_ was coming for you until it was too late. When someone was shot in the temple with such fatal precision in a seemingly impossible situation, you knew who had struck.

Widowmaker departed her temporary aircraft and went to work. She casually hopped onto the uneven London rooftops, gliding off into the night. Her tracks would soon be covered by the downpour of musty rain. 

Widowmaker peered through her scope and spotted the mansion, which was surrounded by large guards in black uniforms. They were hardly a problem to the experienced femme fatale.

Skillfully maneuvering past the security cameras and alarms, Widowmaker comfortably crouched on an adjacent rooftop that peered into the mansion's windows.

Widowmaker wished she had a blueprint to the house. Well... no. She didn't. Being given the blueprints of the home would make the mission too easy. She loved the thrill of the mission, the adrenaline rushing through her ears, the excitement of the chase. The only thing that satisfied her more than the thrill of the mission was the death that came along with it. Widowmaker just felt _satisfied_ watching the pupils of her victims dilate after being shot. Watching the warm blood seep through the victim's clothes. Watching their panicked last gasp for what was left of their pathetic life-

Widowmaker smirked as she spotted a little blonde girl play with dolls in what appeared to be a playroom. It was decorated with lilac walls and glowing stars.

The word "hope" was written in cursive alongside a wall.

It didn't take long for Widowmaker to find the other child, sleeping comfortably in a blue crib.

Widowmaker placed a dot over the little girl's head. Time slowed down. She counted her ever faint heartbeats and would instinctively remember to pull the trigger in between heartbeats. But, the gunshot never happened.

Widowmaker frowned. She continued to stalk the little girl, who had now gotten up and towards a closet. The little girl pull out pink shoes.

Widowmaker, with a hint of curiosity, zoomed in on the shoes. Ballet shoes. The little blonde girl giggled ever so quietly, partly because she didn't want to wake her brother up. Even from a distance though, Widowmaker heard her.

The little girl slid her tiny feet in the ballet shoes and proceeded to dance. She was obviously taking ballet lessons. Innocence Hale, albeit a little clumsily, twirled and danced the night away, as if she didn't have a care in the world. As if she were the freest bird in existence.

_"Is that the Vaganova technique? It's clumsy. No matter, she has time to perfect it."_ Widowmaker subconsciously thought. Then, it hit Widowmaker.

Innocence would never have a chance to grow. She would never experience the nervousness and excitement of her first major ballet performance. She would never feel the stage floor melt at her touch. She would never hear the uproar, the beautiful applaud from the audience. She would never perform the _pas de deux_ upon ballet academy graduation. Oh, never mind ballet. She would never experience life to the fullest extent. Never.

Widowmaker exhaled sharply and accidentally dropped her rifle, which clattered on the floor. _Merde._ Several guards noticed the ruckus, and shone their flashlights towards the rooftop where Widowmaker hid. There was nothing there.

* * *

Widowmaker ran and ran, until her lungs felt as if they were drowning in volcanic ash. She had been sloppy, and now her rifle was inside some random bushes of the mansion's house. Widowmaker didn't care.

Once hidden in an alleyway, Widowmaker collapsed. Her daunting eyes scanned her surroundings. Widowmaker used her grapple to perch herself in an open apartment window, where a man was sound asleep and totally oblivious to an unemotional killing machine occupying his home. Widow saw three police cars survey the vacant cobblestone street Widowmaker ran off to.

Widowmaker closed the window and heard the man stir.

"Rebecca? Is that-"

The poor bastard could not even finish his last sentence, as Widowmaker rapidly jammed her boot into his face. Widowmaker considered leaving the man alive, but decided that it was too risky to let the man live. He would tell authorities that she had been in the square. Widowmaker never left a trace of her whereabouts.

After dealing with the man, Widowmaker surveyed the apartment and found the coast clear. She sat on a burgundy armchair and sighed.

_Why did I hesitate to shoot the little girl?_

A booming headache caused Widowmaker to silently yelp. She could feel the blood rushing in her head. She tasted metal.

She saw a vivid mental image of a beautiful woman. The woman had strong, but slender, legs. Her mere presence gave off a charismatic, charming persona with a hit of wit. Her smile was her most striking feature.

_It's wrong._

Widowmaker wickedly laughed to herself. Since when did she distinguish between what is right and wrong? Didn’t she just kill an elderly man for being in the wrong home at the wrong time? 

Shit. Widowmaker could already hear her superiors laugh at Widow's failed mission. How is she going to get out of this one? Widowmaker remembered being on thin ice when she returned to her headquarters with no gauntlet. She would be on even thinner ice now that she failed to do possibly the most simple task any skilled assassin could take on.

Was she getting soft?

Her? Soft?

Widowmaker could taste the bitter feeling of being subjected to emotional reconditioning. She didn't remember the procedure, but she remembered the recovery. She remembered an emptiness, a feeling of cruel violation.

_"I could go back to the mansion, retrieve my rifle, and finish the job,"_ Widowmaker thought, knowing full well that Talon would equip someone else to do her job for her. Widowmaker had too much pride to let that happen.

A torrent of thoughts poured in her head. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she had no idea what to do.

* * *

Smash. Whip. Bake.

Lena Oxton, better known by her callsign Tracer, eagerly waited for her cookies to bake. The holidays were near, and Lena Oxton wanted her girlfriend to come home for a nice surprise. Soft rain pitter pattered on the uneven apartment rooftops. A light red glow illuminated the apartment Lena was situated in.

The sound of a car parking and rattling keys caused the young air force pilot to stand in front of the door with roses in her hand. She had been gone for two months, secretly meeting with Winston and other ex-Overwatch members. The possibility of Overwatch operating once more seemed all too real a possibility. A second Omnic and political crisis was on the verge of erupting. The catalyst? The assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta, renowned Shimbali monk and advocate for peace.

Lena shuddered and shut her eyes to block out the uneasy feeling in her stomach. But, all she could see was a silhouette of a tall, slim figure. Piercing yellow eyes were staring into the depths of Tracer's soul.

That woman.

That murderer.

_"Why?! Why did you do this?"_

Tracer could still taste the bitterness in Widowmaker's voice when she answered with a simple laugh. There was so much pain in that laughter. So much loss.

Tracer slapped herself. There was no pain in that laughter. And there was a sense of direction. Widowmaker simply sought out the blood, the thrill, the excitement of murder. She was just a psychopath who got a kick out of death.

The sound of a car parking and rattling keys prompted Lena to jump out of her trance and grab a bouquet of roses.

"Oh, did she tell you that? Well, tell her to kiss my ass," Emily said angrily, not realizing she was killing the romantic mood Tracer had set up. Once Emily realized Tracer was home, she hung up immediately and hugged her lover.

"You're back?! I thought-"

"The trip ended early. So, I thought I would surprise you," Tracer beamed, softly kissing Emily on her plum lips.

"Okay, Lena, ya got me. Is that the smell of gingerbread cookies?" Emily said.

"Yes, ma'am! We are staying at home all day and watching chick flicks. First up, _Mean Girls_."

"Never heard of it," Emily laughed.

"How dare you insult me like that? It's a damn classic!" Lena pouted.

Emily nervously laughed and plopped on the worn down couch. She was playing with her nails, a nervous tick that Lena always picked up. Something was bothering Emily.

"Hey, luv. What's wrong?" Tracer asked, taking a seat next to Emily.

Emily sighed. "It's work. I got offered a promotion." Emily started biting her lip.

Tracer was confused. "No, really?! I'm proud of you, luv!"

Emily was currently a receptionist at a renowned law firm. She was attending school to become an attorney, and her ultimate goal was to represent the United Nations. It was an extremely prestigious goal. Some would even argue you needed to fight dirty to reach that goal.

"There's a catch. I have to move to the United States for an internship that almost guarantees I get a higher position in the law firm. Lena, I would have to move to the United States for two years."

Lena sat back in her seat, baffled. She had been waiting two whole months to see Emily again. Now, she will have to wait another eternity? Tracer felt obligated to say she was against the idea, yet Tracer knew the position meant so much to Emily.

"Go, "Lena said firmly, clasping her lover's hand. "You set aside your dreams just to be with me. Now, it's time I set aside my dreams to be with you. I'll quit my job at Overwatch and go with you to the United-"

"No, Lena. Overwatch... it's your passion," Emily sighed. "Overwatch is a part of who you are, a part of what you will always be fighting for- peace, love, justice. I can't ever take that away from you. And let's not even talk about your chronal accelerator."

Lena needed monthly checkups with Winston in order to check the condition of her chronal accelerator, which made sure she never slipped in and out of time. She would travel to Gibraltar at the end of every month. It was already a costly trip, and Lena knew she wouldn't be able to go to Gibraltar if she lived in the United States. The United States was placed under strict aviation law, due to the rising international tensions. This meant air travel was extremely limited. Only high officials were permitted to travel outside of the United States freely.

Lena smiled. "You're absolutely right, luv. It would just be impossible. It's not like distance has ever been a problem for us, anyways."

Emily smiled faintly and started to tear up. She was lost in her own thoughts.

"Earth to Embug, earth to Embug! Stop with the waterworks, you'll make me cry! Anyways, you need to be cultured. I'll put on _Mean Girls_."


	3. Apprehended

Emily left for the Americas the following Saturday. Emily practically begged her boss to let her stay in England for at least a little while, yet he insisted that Emily started her internship immediately. Their goodbye, although solemn, was hopeful. Tracer promised to visit Emily as soon as she could.

A few days later, Tracer was in her apartment room, flipping through news channels in boredom. She decided to take a brisk walk through a nearby street market in the evening. Tracer pulled her hoodie over her face in order to blend in with the crowd and hid her chronal accelerator underneath several baggy sweaters.

Aisles and aisles of random knickknacks cluttered the stands with busy shop owners. Couples tenderly walked hand in hand down the crowded aisles.

No ordinary person would have even caught a quick glimpse of a figure running on top of a London rooftop. Lena Oxton was no ordinary person.

She saw the figure in the corner of her eye and slowly spun around, scanning the roofs of surrounding buildings.

Curious, Lena promptly walked in a dark alleyway where nobody was present and proceeded to scale the nearest building, which happened to be a boutique store. She dashed towards the place where she last saw the figure, but didn't see a hint of the figure's whereabouts.

Lena Oxton almost jumped off the building in order to proceed with her walk. Then, she looked down at her feet and saw a light, muddy trail of footprints. The shoe prints were... peculiar? They weren't the average running shoes you'd see anyone use to parkour. 

Tracer felt queasy, and her surroundings started spinning. She didn't like this. Not one bit.

"Are these heel prints?"

A moment of realization dawned upon the ex-pilot.

She ran towards the edge of the roof and thought that she would for sure spill her guts out onto the cobblestone streets.

* * *

Widowmaker stared at the red pills she now cupped in her slender hands.

Her mind was a frenzy as she paced back and forth in the dead man's living room and kitchen.

Talon instructed Widowmaker to take two red tablets in the case of a psychological emergency. Widowmaker never used them, nor did she think she ever would.

Widowmaker didn't have to take the pills. It's not the first time she would defy her organization. Well, she wouldn't really call a secret visit to her dead husband's grave an act of defiance.

She didn't want to admit that her husband's death created a vast, hollow emptiness in her heart where he had seemingly occupied it. She didn't want to admit that she held hatred towards her organization for turning her into an unstable mess of a human. She didn't want to admit that her entire sense of self was ruined, and that she wasn't regarded as a human. Amélie didn't want to admit that, everyday of her waking life, she wanted to scream until she collapsed and died.

No. Amélie Lacroix had died that fateful day. On that same day, Widowmaker was born. A monster.

_"It's who I have become. It's who I will forever be."_

With that, Widowmaker swallowed the pills.

* * *

Lena followed the dirty footprints on the floor as far as she could, before a downpour of rain covered up the heel tracks. Tracer cursed under her breath.

Tracer frowned. Where could that damn demon spawn be?

Tracer scanned the front of the mansion where Widowmaker's footprints had led her. Odd. Not odd. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Widowmaker was here to assassinate whoever lived in that home.

Then, Lena Oxton saw her, scoped in and oblivious to the fact that Tracer was a few hundred yards away from her.

Lena Oxton hesitated for a moment before dashing towards the rooftop, in the process pinning a very confused blue woman.

Widowmaker's look of confusion quickly faded to a look of annoyance. Tracer rolled Widow to the side, paying special attention to Widowmaker's legs so she couldn't pull a reverse flip maneuver off the rooftop. Like their last meeting.

Widowmaker gave Lena a good punch in the gut, which caused Lena to groan and fall to the side. Lena quickly got up and grabbed Widow's shoulders, repinning her.

Widowmaker, obviously at a disadvantage, reached towards her loaded rifle. Tracer kicked it away and pointed her pistol in Widowmaker's face, which made the assassin freeze.

"Gotcha, love."

Widowmaker simply stared at the annoyance.

Tracer debated whether or not she should kill Widowmaker right there on the spot, her brain giving her unwarranted mixed signals. It was never easy for Tracer to end a life, no matter how terrible Widowmaker was and no matter how many wrongdoings she committed. That was just the type of person Lena was. Meanwhile, Widowmaker was calculating her chances at rushing Lena and shooting her in the face with her own pistol. The chances were high.

Widowmaker attempted to kick the Brit off of her. She was fast, yet Lena was faster. Tracer managed to evade the kick. Wow. Tracer forgot just how cold Widowmaker's skin was.

Widowmaker pulled out a knife from God knows where and managed to get on her knees. Tracer evaded the deadly slash by backflipping off Widowmaker. Widow took the opportunity to attempt to jump off the building. Tracer swept Widowmaker's legs, causing her to lose her balance. Widowmaker lied on the rooftop, defeated.

For a moment, Tracer wondered what to do. The Blackwatch team, the covert operations division of Overwatch, was on a hiatus for the holiday season. Tracer could alert British authorities and turn her in.

The media would soon publicize the news that _the Widowmaker_ was captured. The news would become a national headline, and it would result in mixed feelings and actions from the public. Would publicizing Widowmaker's arrest only bring more chaos to the Omnic debate? What would Talon do?

Tracer's primary concern in the moment was getting off the rooftop and in an area where the pair wouldn't be seen.

Tracer suddenly remembered the zip ties she carried in her bag.

"Stick out your arms. If I see you try anything, I won't hesitate to shoot you," Tracer warned, not believing her last statement.

Widowmaker obeyed.

"Stand up and follow my lead," Tracer ordered.

"And if I don't?" Widow snarled back, icily staring down Tracer.

"Then I'll drag you."

Widowmaker thought for a split second and decided that she would prefer getting dragged, just to make things even more difficult for Tracer than they already were.

Lena, obviously being the smaller woman, had trouble dragging Widow. Tracer strapped Widowmaker's sniper rifle around her hip and then picked up Widowmaker, causing Widow to quietly yelp in surprise.

"Change of plans, I'll carry you. Don't try anything stupid," Tracer warned, keeping the weapons out of Widowmaker's grasp.

Lena Oxton dashed off the side of the building and proceeded to walk down an alleyway, paying special attention to make sure Widowmaker didn't fall out of her arms. The rain was pouring hard, relentlessly soaking the pair. The sparkly drops slid off the French woman, and the moonlight lit up her face. The sky was still a violet shade. Lena wouldn't want to admit that a wet Widowmaker against the background of the sky was a beautifully daunting sight.

Lena found a forgotten alleyway and turned in it. She leaned the assassin against the graffiti-coated wall. Widowmaker didn't speak. She only looked up at the sky.

Lena Oxton was dangerously close to alerting local authorities that Widowmaker was in her possession. But, another idea struck her mind. Overwatch needed intel on Talon and the whereabouts of Widowmaker's other notorious aliases. Surely Widowmaker would also have knowledge on some of Talon's future ploys. If Overwatch possessed valuable intel on a global threat, it would help bolster Overwatch's calls for reactivation.

Lena needed to place Widowmaker in a safe house until she could call Jesse McCree or Winston. They were some of the only people Tracer trusted to sneak Widow in a watchpoint or base, and imprison her until they can drag out the intel.

Where could Lena hide Widowmaker in the time being?

Her home. No. No way in hell will Tracer voluntarily bring Widowmaker into her own home!

But, nobody, not even Talon, would suspect Widowmaker would be residing in Tracer's own home. It would be the perfect place to hide the assassin.

Lena reluctantly made up her mind. "Alright, about three miles from here, we are walking to a safe house. I'm gonna need you to cooperate-"

"Non."

"Then I'll have to carry you three miles-"

"Fine. I'll walk," Widowmaker spat bitterly.

"We're going through the backstreets, to avoid people and the bobbies. Ya know, the British law enforcement."

This certainly was news to Widowmaker. Tracer wasn't turning her into the authorities?

The pair did not talk to one another the entire duration of the walk. Lena placed one hand on Widowmaker's wrist in order to guide the woman and in order to make sure Widow wasn't attempting to escape her improvised bondages.

The pair finally came upon a beige, sturdy building. Tracer's apartment complex. Lena and the assassin entered the building through the "Employees Only" backdoor. Lena would take no chances of Widowmaker being spot.

"What did I get myself into?" Lena said, averting the assassin's gaze.

"A real fuck up," Widowmaker replied, this time smirking ever so faintly.

The pair took creaky stairs up to Lena's apartment. Widowmaker walked in first, and the first thing she did was visually map out the entrances and exits of the home.

If Widowmaker wasn't confused before, she was now, although she showed no hint of it.

"Lena Oxton," Widowmaker whispered, staring blankly at the name tag in an office space.

"That's my name," Tracer said. "And you are?"

Widowmaker stared at Lena in a bewildered way.

"Surely you weren't born with the name Widowmaker," Lena continued, taking note of Widowmaker's puzzled look.

Widowmaker subtly picked at her nails, the same way Emily did when she was nervous.

"My name?"

"Mmhmm..."

"If you haven't noticed, I'm standing in your living room like a wet dog. Do me a favor and let me change out of this, _oui_?" Widowmaker stated, smoothly evading the question. Dripping rainwater created a pool around the area Widowmaker stood.

"Oh. Right. Um... I guess... Follow me," Lena said, still threatening the assassin with a pistol.

Tracer dug through her belongings until she found a pair of handcuffs, which needed a passcode in order to open. Lena handcuffed Widowmaker's right leg to a tough metal bar and cut off the zip-ties in order to let her change in the guest room.

Emily brought all of her articles of clothing with her to the United States. None of Lena's clothing would fit the taller Frenchwoman.

"You don't happen to have an extra suit, do you?" Tracer asked.

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow tantalizingly. Of course not.

Lena grabbed an old purple nightgown. Tracer thought lending Widowmaker underwear would be too weird.

Lena's nightgown fit... awkwardly on Widowmaker. It was too short and extremely tight. Yet, it had to do.

Tracer had enough action for one day. Tracer reapplied the zip ties to Widowmaker's wrists and did everything possible to assure the assassin couldn't escape the room, which included placing a camera in the corner of the room.

_"This is overkill,"_ Lena thought. _"No it's not. This is Widowmaker we're talking about here."_


	4. Amélie

_27 years ago. Annecy, France._

Little Amélie's radiant eyes looked at the chateau in awe from the backseat of a cruise ship. It was beautiful and rustic, with grey bricks and tall columns. The deep lake surrounding the home gave it an air of forgotten grandeur. A maid grabbed little Amélie's tender hand. Amélie clutched her satin sweater with her other hand.

"Dis bonjour à ton papa," the maid said, guiding Amélie off the ship.

A face Widowmaker couldn't remember for the life of her smiled warmly at little Amélie, hugging her ever so tightly.

"Why do you never visit me and mama?" she asked sweetly, looking past her father's distraught glances.

"I'm too sick, _mon petite fille_. Come, Amélie, let's explore the home."

Her father carried Amélie to a large room, which had lavish windows providing a viewpoint of the coast. He adjusted her in her arms, before settling on an outward-facing armchair.

"Chateau Guillard. This home will be yours one day. It may look a little beaten now, but once you fix it up a bit, you will restore it back to its formal glory," her father said, more to himself than to his daughter.

Amélie's father held her in his arms for an hour, silently staring out into the vast lake. Little Amélie didn't mind. She felt safe wrapped up in her father's arms.

"Amélie, I have to tell you something," he said, wiping Amélie's sleek black hair out of her eyes. "Do you remember me telling you that I have cancer? That I am sick?"

"Oui, papa."

"I'm not in the best health. I have been going to a treatment, but it is not working. Soon, I won't be around anymore. I will die."

"Die?"

"Sleep forever and ever," Monsieur Guillard continued, wiping tears out of his eyes.

"When will I see you, papa?"

"Not for a long time."

Amélie started crying, not comprehending everything her father said.

"Mon petite fille. No need to cry," he reassured, adjusting the little girl on his lap. "I will always be with you. Always."

Amélie continued to sob, burying her face in her father's coat. He stood up, before walking out into the balcony. She shivered slightly as a gust of wind brushed her bare leg. She turned her body around, her eyes peering out into the open darkness.

"What is your favorite thing about the view, Amélie?" Monsieur Guillard asked.

Amélie scanned the silhouette of the surrounding forestry, before gazing up at the moon and stars. "The sky."

"The sky! The sky is my favorite, too. That is where I will be living when I die. How about this? When you start to miss me after I'm gone, look up at the sky. And when you are staring at it, I will be staring back at you, too. That way, you will know that I am with you. Does that sound good, Amélie?"

"Oui, papa."

Amélie's father died four weeks later.

* * *

_Two months ago. Annecy, France._

Widowmaker stepped off the small boat, clutching her handbag. The full moon cascaded down Widowmaker's back, her blue skin giving off an eerie midnight glow.

The chateau. It had been years since she last saw it.

Widow unloaded her belongings and turned her passport over on a table. She was working under the alias Danielle Guillard. Widowmaker grabbed a bottle of Chardonnay and poured herself a glass, leaning over the balcony and watching the dark water slosh.

She swished the glass in her hands delicately before downing the wine.

She walked into the first room she could find. A library.

Hesitant, Widow searched her bags for her hidden item. Talon would surely wipe her if they found out about the photo in her possession.

Her wedding photo. Widow held the memory in her hand, running her fingers over the woman's alien face. She couldn't tell if she missed it. Her past life. She placed it on the shelf quietly, before diverting her attention towards her wine.

A beep from her laptop sounded ever so faintly. An email from an unknown source.

"It's time."

Widowmaker readjusted her dress and set the wineglass down on the floor.

She had a mission to go to.

* * *

_Present day.  
_  
Widowmaker couldn't sleep, nor did she want to. She simply curled up in the corner of the spare bed and stared at the mahogany walls and popcorn ceiling.

In the other room, Tracer couldn't sleep, mainly because she was monitoring a certain _someone_ from a camera. Tracer narrowed her eyes, glossing over the stern and concentrated look on Widowmaker's face.

Tracer didn't know exactly when she fell asleep. But, when she woke up, she immediately ran into the guest room Widowmaker was in.

Widowmaker stopped dead in her tracks when Lena walked into the room. Widowmaker had managed to slip out of the zip ties and proceeded to use them to attempt to saw the chain off the handcuffs that bound her legs to the bed.

Lena sighed. She was still there. "Plus three points for creativity, Widow. But, that won't work."

Lena proceeded to grab the zip ties out of Widowmaker's firm grasp.

"I came to check up on you," Lena groaned, a large headache erupting on her temples.

Widowmaker glared at her, shooting sharp daggers straight into Lena's soul.

Tracer wasn't entirely sure yet if she regretted not alerting authorities about Widowmaker's presence. She reminded herself repeatedly that she was doing this for Overwatch, for the eventual greater good.

"Just out of pure curiousity, why haven't you killed me yet? You've had plenty of opportunities to do so," Lena said.

"Funny," Widowmaker said, in a much lighter tone than usual. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Are you hungry?" Lena asked, ignoring Widow's looks of distaste.

"Non."

"Thirsty? Comfortable? If you want, I can change the room temperature."

"Hm. Benevolence. How foolish."

"You should try it sometime."

"Let's make this one hundred percent clear: I can't stand you. And I won't," Widowmaker hissed, pure venom spewing out with every word she spoke.

"Glad the feeling is mutual," Tracer replied, turning around to leave.

Lena pondered over what to do. No active Overwatch agents were present in Europe, other than Winston at the watchpoint in Gibraltar. Lena could single handedly smuggle Widowmaker into the watchpoint and lock her up in a temporary cell. How would she drag out the intel from Widow? Surely Widowmaker wouldn't just give up the information Tracer sought. Torture was definitely out of the question. Overwatch is a peacekeeping organization. They will not stoop down to Talon's size.

A certain incident came into mind, and Tracer wanted to get to the bottom of it. It was burning her, and each minute the excruciatingly painful sensation clawed at her skin to the point where she felt as if her insides were exposed. She needed to know. A numbing pain tickled the back of Tracer's throat.

"Widow... I've been meaning to receive an answer to a question I've asked before."

Widowmaker looked up at Tracer, confused. What question?

"Why did you kill Mondatta that night in King's Row?"

The answer should've been simple.

"I was ordered to," was Widowmaker's self explanatory response. She proceeded to look down at her nails in vain, uninterested.

Tracer wasn't pleased.

"But why would you, _you personally_ , carry out such a horrific crime?"

No answer.

"You were ordered to. Hm," Lena said, walking back and forth in the room. "Do you know how many tensions have risen due to the assassination? Do you know how horrible I feel, how I wish I never turned back time to save myself? I used to wish you killed me that night. I feel responsible for Mondatta's death. And I always will."

Widowmaker didn't know what to say to that. She didn't necessarily feel horrible for putting Tracer in that situation. Yet, what Tracer just said bugged her, like if her words were a pesky gnat. Naturally, Widow ran on autopilot. "The enemies of Talon need to be eliminated. Instructions that are not fulfilled will be met with consequences."

A shiver ran through Tracer's spine. How could she look Tracer right in the eyes and say that?

"Do you even care about the repercussions of your fucking actions?" Lena yelled, unable to contain herself. "Do you realize how many people have been hurt by you, physically and emotionally? You're a selfish, cold, cruel bitch who only seeks blood-"

"Since when do you know anything about my intentions?" Widowmaker interrupted, sharply sitting up.

Widowmaker's mind was breaking all over again. The red pills, which were supposed to give Widowmaker a clean and obedient state of mind, seemingly failed to work properly. And now, due to sloppiness, she would be imprisoned until she was dead.

At least she would be with her Gérard.

"Yes, I love the feeling of killing. Watching the eyes of my victim dilate. Watching their limp bodies crash onto the floor. They were nothing before, and they are nothing after. The rush, the adrenaline, the excitement- oh, the blood," Widowmaker continued, her voice inappropriately sensual.

Tracer wanted to bolt for the door. This was heading towards a direction she didn't intend to cross.

"You... you monster," Tracer whispered.

Widowmaker's anger had boiled up inside her. It was slowly seeping out, like a faulty leak coming out of a rusted pipe.

It took years, but Widowmaker saw herself slowly loathing Talon, loathing what they'd done to her. The catalyst? The moment Widow placed a single rose on her husband's grave. It was then that she realized just how much she had lost. Widowmaker used to feel disgusted with herself for feeling hateful towards Talon. But her subtle discontent with Talon was there, alive and breathing. It had always been there, deep down inside.

And here was Tracer, giving her unsolicited input on something she knew nothing about.

You monster.

"Ask me what Talon had done to make me love that feeling. I've been broken, turned into some sadistic murderer. Ask me what Talon would do to me if I failed to comply with them, if I dared to disobey them. They would break me even more, turn me into an even more fucked up version of myself."

Tracer widened her eyes. Widowmaker started choking. "Everyone I have ever loved or have ever come close to loving has either died, turned against me, or pretended I had never existed. Do you know, Tracer, how it feels? To be forcibly dragged out of your life, to be played with like a deck of cards? Everything was taken from me- my husband, my sense of self-"

At this point, Widowmaker's face was covered with tears and she was visibly shaking. She cursed herself for spilling her heart out to, of all people in the world, Tracer. But, she said it. And it wouldn't be a lie if she said that she would die satisfied in the moment.

"To answer your initial question, Tracer, I committed the act because I believed Talon was doing something for a bigger and greater purpose. That Talon wanted me to assassinate that omnic for an ulterior motive," Widowmaker laughed coolly. "I realize that I've known better. You're right. I am selfish. Cold. Cruel. A monster."

"Widow, I'm," Lena began to stammer.

"You have no idea! You have no right to-"

Widowmaker buried her face in her own legs and continued to cry. Widowmaker tried composing herself. She hadn't cried in years. Yet, no matter how much Widowmaker wanted to stop crying, the tears kept on flowing. Her efforts to stifle her sobs fared no better than a flimsy log attempting to stop being tossed around at the edge of a waterfall.

Tracer didn't know how to handle the situation. She backed out of the room and left the assassin to her thoughts.

* * *

Emily?" Tracer quietly said over the phone, hoping Emily actually up.

"Hey! This is Emily G. I'm sorry! I'm not available right now. If you would like to get in contact with me, please leave a-"

"Damn it," Lena murmured underneath her breath.

She might as well check up on Widowmaker for the thirteenth time. She was making Lena anxious.

Before Lena turned, she looked through her belongings for a flash drive Winston had given her. The flash drive containing all the remaining intel Overwatch had. After the Petras Act, which prevented Overwatch from operating, every piece of intel was seized by the United Nations. Or so the United Nations thought.

Tracer had promised Winston that she wouldn't look through the flash drive due to confidentiality.

"Sorry, big guy," Tracer said, plugging the flash drive into the laptop.

Tracer scanned over the contents of the flash drive for half an hour, finding nothing on Widowmaker.

She finally came across a page, seemingly vacant.

Widowmaker. Description: Blue hair. Blue skin. 5'9. Affiliation: Talon. Marked as highly dangerous.

Teacher frowned. Was this all the information Overwatch had on Widowmaker?

Who was she?

Widowmaker was bored out of her mind sitting in the guest bedroom. She was playing with the end of the nightgown Tracer gave her nights before.

Lena walked into the room, hoping Widowmaker wouldn't notice. Widowmaker was facing the opposite direction of Lena, staring at the floral curtains that concealed Widowmaker's view of the outside world.

"I figured that, one day, I would be apprehended for my actions. Talon will kill me before I spill any of their secrets to the world. In fact, they're probably looking for me right now. It's all over. I'm a tool. I have served my purpose, and it's time for me to be discarded," Widowmaker contemplated.

"Widow... look. You're not an object. You're a human being," Tracer said, feeling obligated to do so.

Widowmaker fell silent. She picked up a strawberry off the fruit platter Lena left earlier and nervously nibbled on it.

"You know, Widow, you have a lot of nervous ticks," Lena added.

"Do I now?" Widowmaker vocalized, facing Tracer.

"You bite your nails and bottom lip. You don't look at me in the eyes when you're uncomfortable. You play with your fingers and hair. You fidget-"

"I never viewed you as the observant type," Widowmaker harshly replied, still nibbling on the strawberry.

"You also insult people when you feel attacked, I assume."

Widowmaker fell silent once more. She was contemplating something, choosing her next words wisely. She was dumbfounded. Nobody had ever noticed, nor cared enough, to pick up on her subtle mannerisms. Yet here was Tracer, reading Widowmaker as if she were a three part novel.

Lena jumped as the lights in the room flickered. A huge crackle boomed the sky, and the downpour of heavy rain splattered the window.

Lena walked over towards the window and peeled the curtains out of the way, setting them on the ground.

"Amélie," Widowmaker whispered in a hush.

"Excuse me?"

"Amélie. My name was Amélie."

**Dis bonjour à ton papa. Say hello to your father.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far!! I appreciate each and every single one of ya (:


	5. Vulnerable

Tracer closed her bedroom door behind her after she took off her chronal accelerator, substituting it for a bracelet that would work when she was within range of the device.

She sat on her bed for several moments, tapping on the keys of her laptop as she attempted to write an email to Emily. 

She shut her laptop and phoned her instead. No answer.

Lena attempted to call Emily a second time. This time, Emily picked up. Tracer decided that it would be best if she didn't mention the fact that Widowmaker was sound asleep in the guest bedroom across the hallway.

"Lena? Isn't it late over there?" Emily asked.

"Hey, Em. Yeah, but I can manage."

"You alright?"

"I’m good. Weather’s been quite gloomy these past few days. How is the United States? Have you settled in?"

"Oh, the United States is... interesting. I just moved from the hotel to my apartment this morning."

Emily’s attention diverted towards her work phone as it buzzed loudly in the background. 

"Lena, it’s work. Can I call you back?"

"Sure, luv."

Lena returned some emails and busied herself with other tasks, until an hour passed without so much as a notification on her phone. She sighed and went to sleep.

* * *

Amélie woke up facing a bay window. Bright sunlight snuck through the blinds of the curtains, tickling her eyes. A diamond chandelier hung above the king-sized bed, swinging lazily. Amélie instinctively reached out towards her left, feeling a body stir next to her. Gérard.

"Honey?" Widowmaker said lazily as she stretched her arms.

No response.

"Gérard dear?"

Still no response.

Amélie frowned and turned to face her husband. What she saw instead was a lump of pillows where her husband was supposed to be.

All of a sudden, muscular arms grabbed Amélie from behind, causing her to shriek. The arms wrapped around Amélie's neck, forcing her into a headlock.

" _Salope_."

"Gérard," Amélie managed to yell as her airway compressed. lungs felt as if they were going to explode.

" _Ta guele! Mais maintenant, tu devras le faire_ ," an icy voice hissed from behind. Gérard.

Amélie's world went hazy as she lost consciousness. She was floating in the air, completely detached from her physical body. Her eyes slowly lost their vibrant sheen and became a ghostly white. Her fair skin paled to a rotten grey. Amélie couldn't talk, nor scream. She simply kept floating towards the sky.

She looked down at herself in horror as a man who Amélie couldn't recognize anymore stood idly, his condescending grey eyes leering over her body.

A single tear rolled down Amélie's face.

* * *

Widowmaker's face was fixated in a stern frown. She was tossing and turning, flailing the sheets around. Widow coughed as she stirred, and nearly screamed in surprise when she saw Lena looking down at her.

"Sh sh sh, Widow! It's just me," Tracer whispered. "You're alright."

_You're alright._

Widowmaker sat up and finished her coughing fit, not realizing that tears were streaming down her face. Lena placed a hand on her shoulder for support. There was something about Lena's touch that made everything okay, that made Widowmaker want to meld into Lena's careful hands. Lena knew what it was like to suffer from frequent nightmares. This wasn't the first time Widowmaker had violently woken up from a dream. Each nightmare Widowmaker had was different, and varying in degree.

"What was the dream about, love?" Tracer asked kindly.

"It doesn’t matter," Widowmaker said defensively, shrugging Tracer’s hand off of her.

"Just what is going on inside that head of yours?" Lena whispered, low enough for Widowmaker to overlook. Every word, every hint, every action that escaped the assassin made Tracer re-evaluate her sentiments towards Widowmaker. And it was getting to the point of frustration.

Tracer gazed into Widowmaker's eyes. Widowmaker stared back, powerful, blank, and fearless. When she was focused, she was good at masking her emotions. It was all a facade.

"Do you want to know what I'm scared of? Time," Tracer added.

"You? Scared of time?" Widow replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Time's an awfully daunting concept when ya think about it. It never stops, never shows remorse. Anyway, I used to be an airforce pilot. A damn good one, too. I was recruited to test a prototype of some new aircraft several years ago. I was elated when I found out that I’d been chosen. It ended up being the worst decision of my life."

Tracer frowned. "Something went wrong, and I was teleported into nothingness, into the dark pit of another dimension. I was here, but not here at the same time. I remember fading in and out of reality. I remember seeing everyone I cared for, but not being able to touch them, communicate with them, tell them I love them. I remember how terrifying it was. How empty I felt. I would be stuck in some sort of fucked up space time continuum for the rest of eternity."

"The only thing anchoring you in the present is that device you always have on your chest," Widowmaker said, remembering how she damaged it when she assassinated Mondatta that night in King's Row.

Tracer's voice became hoarse. She closed her eyes. "Yes. It is. I owe my life to the scientist that designed it." Tracer felt somewhat relieved to get her thoughts off of her chest.

"Why are you telling me this, Tracer?"

Maybe you’ll let me in a little. "Providing some insight. Fears can often reveal something about ourselves that we don’t like to acknowledge. But, the more you acknowledge it, or accept it, the more bearable life becomes. Floating in and out of time changed me. I learned to appreciate life. Savor it. Spend it with the people I love, not because time keeps on ticking, not because I‘m growing closer to death, but because there’s always a possibility that I’ll never feel anything tangible ever again."

Widowmaker cleared her throat. What the fuck was she supposed to say to that? She didn't know what made her speak. "I wouldn’t exactly call it a fear, but it’s something I don’t like to acknowledge- emotion. Your emotions make you vulnerable. Once someone uses your emotions to their advantage, you’re defeated."

"Emotions make you stronger, love. Emotions make you... human. Sure, they can suck at times. But, the more we follow our emotions, the more we can trust them to carry us forward in our lives. To help us understand others. Emotions are a beautiful thing."

"Well, with that, time is also a beautiful thing," Widowmaker added. "It brings order to our lives. It drives us to act. It is scarce. And with scarcity comes value. Humans learn to value their time, and allocate it towards things that are fulfilling."

Tracer nodded in agreement. Quite frankly, she didn't expect Widowmaker to say much of anything, let alone make her feel better.

Tracer shook her thoughts away. "Excuse me," she mumbled, walking out of the room and into the bathroom. Her body ached. A nice, hot shower was what she needed. No, a boiling, scathing one.

Widowmaker waited until she heard Tracer turn on her shower head before making her move. She yanked the handcuff chain, semi-freeing her hands. The zip tie from the previous day had weakened the chain just enough for Widowmaker to yank it off. She just needed the perfect opportunity, one wrong move on Tracer's part, to escape.

Widowmaker rolled off the bed silently and simply walked into the living room, deciding to search the house for her number one priority: the equipment Tracer confiscated.

Widow was convinced that the Brit hid her belongings in the master bedroom. The twinkle of her rifle revealed its location in the walk-in closet. Lena had attempted to lock Widow’s belongings in a safe, but her rifle and her bag were both too large to fit.

Now, the question was whether or not she should deal with Tracer. Widowmaker theoretically could end it all while Tracer was vulnerable in the shower. It wouldn't be the first time Widowmaker surprised someone while they were bathing. But, Lena's revelations echoed in the back of Widowmaker's mind.

She would spare Tracer. Besides, Widowmaker would not compromise an escape. Tracer was still too dangerous of an opponent to combat.

Widowmaker was slightly disappointed that her escape was this anticlimactic.

Widow unlocked the front door and made a run for it, blindly running into a dark, vacant corridor. The coast was clear.

It didn't take long for Widowmaker to be stuck once more. She really didn't want to go back to the location she was supposed to meet the Talon freighter at. She was given plenty of time to complete the mission. Her brief absence would be unnoticed.

The idea of fleeing from Talon for good was too tempting to not consider.

But, where would she go? Talon knew of her chateau, and even allowed Widow to make it her base of operations in France. It didn't help that she was an internationally wanted terrorist, and it certainly didn't help that Talon punished deviants without conscience. They wouldn’t just let one of their most effective agents go. No, they would come for her. And worse.

She made a choice. She would take the failed mission and the punishment from her superiors. For the little girl that would have a chance to dance.

Widow knew that someone else would come for the little girl and boy. She needed to warn Pessah Hale of his childrens' impending deaths.

Widow was permanently bound to Talon, and as long as she did the rest of their biddings, she would be fine. Right?

* * *

Tracer decided that the hot, boiling shower was much needed. It soothed her, made her feel relieved of all her worries. Temporarily.

Nothing made sense to the former British Air Force pilot. She found herself conflicted over Widowmaker, conflicted over her involvement with Talon. Tracer glossed over Widow's words carefully. Was Widowmaker a victim in the grand scheme of things?

Tracer dropped her glass on the ground, water seeping through the mahogany carpet.

Widowmaker was gone!

Tracer ran in her bedroom and slammed open the closet. Sure enough, the sniper rifle was gone. 

"Shit!" Tracer urgently whispered. "This is bad, this is really fucking bad."

How could she be so careless?

Tracer sat against the wall, burying her face in her legs.

* * *

Widowmaker made it to the freighter and announced a mission failed. Surprisingly, she didn't get reprimanded from her superiors. At least, not initially.

It had been a few weeks since the incident with Tracer. It was at the back of Widow's mind. There were more urgent matters at hand, such as passing her routine evaluation. She was scheduled to have a physical and psychological evaluation once every three months. Widowmaker was well aware that her newly found emotions were brewing out of control.

But, those same emotions made her feel alive, made her feel like one aspect of her life was not being restricted. It was something she was not willing to let Talon take away from her.

Widow sat in a vacant lounge of the Talon aircraft, consumed in her thoughts. She took a deep draft of her cigarette, exhaling the fumes slowly. The large windows provided a view of the buzzing city underneath her. The air was still, uncomfortable, vaguely familiar.

"Reaper. What a pleasant surprise," Widowmaker said, not looking behind her. "What do you need?"

Reaper glided over to the seat next to her. "I'm not here for business. Just checking up on my favorite spider."

Widowmaker snapped her head in Reaper's direction, her expression questionable. Widow was quick to learn that Reaper only paid her visits when Talon needed something done. When he needed something done.

"What do you need?" Widowmaker repeated.

"Where'd you get the cigarette?"

Widowmaker scoffed. "How is it your concern?"

"Heard you didn't complete your most recent mission. Are you getting soft, Widow?"

"Please. I'm offended. The brats weren't present at the location sent to me."

Reaper leaned in towards the window.

"It's something, isn't it?" Widow said, referring to the city underneath them. "It makes you feel like an ant in the grand scheme of things. Gives a new definition to insignificance."

Reaper grunted in response. The pair sat in silence, each exchanging mutual glances here and there.

"If I were you, I would watch myself," Reaper vocalized, leaning back into the couch. "Wouldn't want Talon to know about your secret possession."

Widowmaker's throat tightened. "What are you insinuating?"

Reaper took out Amélie's wedding photo. Widowmaker gasped and immediately snatched the photo out of his hand. She swiftly placed a hidden blade against his throat. "Where the hell did you get this? Tell me before I stick this knife deep into your-"

"Watch your tongue, Lacroix," Reaper said, unfazed. "I'm doing you a favor here. I took the photo before anyone else discovered it."

She retracted the blade and leaned close to Reaper, listening attentively.

"Several members of the Talon council visited France for an 'excursion'. Borrowed your little base of operations for the weekend. If I hadn’t picked this up, you may have had a surprise reset days ago."

"Why?" Widowmaker said, completely baffled by the whole situation. "Why would you-"

"Owed Gérard a favor. Figured I could cash it in."

Widowmaker laughed, clearly pissed. "Don't bring him into your little scheme." Just what was Reaper up to?

Widow got up from her seat and walked towards the window, picking up her unlit cigarette from the floor.

"You remember Gérard," Reaper said. "Interesting. When you became a member of Talon-"

"Gabriel," Widowmaker interrupted. She never referred to Reaper by his first name. "That's enough." It was a risky subject to talk to Reaper about, especially considering his unknown motives.

Widowmaker sighed. Gérard. His name bore a heavy weight on her shoulders.

"What do you remember about him?" Reaper asked.

Widowmaker reached for her rifle bag and began to walk out of the room. With an air of superiority, she said, "I remember he had fine taste in women."

* * *

Remus Hale unlocked his front door and clumsily threw off his coat. It had been a rough night of negotiations. That was the vice that came with business, he supposed.

His children were his joy. He felt that his purpose in life was to build a world for them that would hold meaning.

Remus Hale tiptoed in his daughter's bedroom, watching drool drip down her chubby face. He reached for a cloth on the nightstand to wipe it off with. It was then that he noticed. A folded piece of paper was left by the bedside table.

The man curiously unfolded the paper, not knowing what to expect.

The contents of it turned him white from fear. He needed to get his children out of the house.

**Translations: Salope. Bitch.**

**Ta guele! Mais maintenant, tu devras le faire. Shut up! I should never have trusted you.**


	6. Operation Algeciras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning due to implications of assault.

The Talon doctor that usually handled Widowmaker sat in a chair across from her, unhurriedly scribbling in his notebook. Widowmaker tapped her fingers, patiently waiting for the man to proceed.

She bit the sides of her tongue. _Stay calm._

The doctor cleared his throat. "Today won't be a regular checkup, Lacroix. A special guest has arrived to make slight... adjustments."

Widowmaker looked up from her lap. What was this fool on about?

A tall, pale woman swiftly entered the room, two soldiers shutting the double door behind her. The woman glided towards the assassin, her ginger hair illuminated by the gloomy lights. "I can take it from here."

"Moira," Widowmaker murmured, tightly grasping the woman's hand during their handshake. A bitter taste erupted in Widowmaker's mouth. _Stay calm._

"How are you feeling, Lacroix?" Moira asked condescendingly, putting on her right glove.

"I don't feel. That's the point, isn't it?" Widowmaker replied, her tone low and dangerous. Moira paused mid-glove, taking a second to peer up at Widowmaker. The two soldiers in the room subtly glanced at one another.

"It is indeed."

Moira walked around Widowmaker, steadily inspecting her up and down. Widow stood straight up, not daring to move.

"Sit down on that chair," Moira instructed, readjusting her eyeglasses. "Men, give us some privacy and step outside."

Widowmaker and the two soldiers obeyed. Moira grabbed Widowmaker's right arm and held it straight outwards, before Moira pricked a vein. Widowmaker felt a numbing sensation shoot up her elbow.

"It'll make your metabolism more efficient," Moira said, reading her mind. Widowmaker inwardly let out a sigh of relief.

"Rather impressed by your recent works, Lacroix."

"Just doing what I do best," Widow replied, unsatisfied with herself.

"Akande regarded you highly at our last meeting. The entire council has been keeping an eye on your track record. Which is partly why I decided to pay you a visit," Moira said.

Widowmaker listened to each and every word attentively.

"You have been invited to partake in a special mission, directed by Mr. Cain himself."

Now this was unexpected. Widowmaker had only heard of Cain and his involvement with Talon. He was a respected coordinator, known for being a staunch man who was hard to track.

"It would be an honor to accompany him on a mission," Widowmaker replied, showing interest.

"Oh, it would. You will be traveling to Spain to meet with him. Mission details are being compiled as we speak. I can only tell you that London will be receiving a... hefty surprise."

London. Widow thought about Tracer.

"Your vitals are functioning well. A bit of hypertension, but nothing that I can't fix. You are taking all of your prescriptions, aren’t you?"

"Twice daily."

"I assumed that was the case. Have you had to use the emergency pills the neuropsychologist issued you?"

The red pills. The pills that didn't work on Widowmaker.

"Non," Widowmaker said.

Moira faintly squinted her eyes. "As expected. You've made great progress since I first altered you all those years ago. And you're only going to function better, I can assure you that. You easily remain as one of my finest genetic experiments."

Experiment. That was all Widowmaker was to Moira.

"When shall I expect information regarding the mission?" Widowmaker pressed, eager to leave the woman's presence.

"Your instructions will be delivered to your compartment in several weeks, along with something to relieve your hypertension."

Moira grabbed her clipboard. "When was your last mental reset?"

"Three months ago."

Moira held Widowmaker's chin up and studied her eyes. Widowmaker had to mask everything behind them.

"That'll be all. You may leave now."

That was it? No brain imaging? No further questions? No more prodding?

"Very well," Widowmaker replied curtly.

"One more thing, Lacroix."

Widowmaker stopped in the doorway, turning her head towards Moira's general direction.

"Keep your eye on Cain. He tends to stick his nose in places it doesn't belong."

* * *

Tracer sat alone in a coffee shop, stirring her cup of goodness with a silver spoon. It was approximately 4 in the morning. Weeks had passed since her last real conversation with Emily. She hadn’t received so much as a text, a single indication, about anything these past few days. How work was. How she was. Yet, Lena kept dialing her.

"Hey, Lena! You called earlier?"

"Hey, chap!" Lena turned up her phone’s volume. "I was just wondering if you’ve talked to Em recently? She hasn’t been answering my texts. Just figured that she’s been busy this week."

"Oh, that’s odd? I just got off the phone with her this morning."

"Is she alright?"

"She seems as good as always. Do you want me to ask her to call you?"

"I think I’ll hold out on that offer, but thanks for updating me."

"No worries! Let me know if there’s anything I can do."

Lena was trying and getting nowhere as a result of it. Fine. If Emily didn't want Lena to speak to her, she wouldn't.

Lena plugged in the flash drive she wasn't supposed to look at for the umpteenth time and refreshed Widowmaker’s portfolio, as if new information would just magically appear on the page.

Tracer's phone beeped. It was a text message from an unknown number.

_Rendezvous at w.p. tomorrow. 8 am sharp. -JM_

Jack Morrison. Tracer still couldn't shake the thought of him suddenly turning up from the grave, as if he didn't already put her in enough distress. Tracer had truly mourned Morrison when he was announced deceased at Zurich. Now that he was alive, he spearheaded covert operations with former agents until Overwatch could officially be recognized as a legal organization.

Which may never happen. Lena hadn't been on a real mission in forever. She didn't want to operate illegally, but no other organizations were willing to step up to the plate and combat global threats to living-kind collectively. Tracer couldn't just twiddle her thumbs and let the world around her fall apart. No, she would rather risk it all for the sake of humans and omnics. Besides, work kept her mind off of her personal life.

Everything about the text message was encrypting. At Watchpoint Gibraltar? Was it going to be the new base of operations? There was only one way to find out.

To her pleasant surprise, Lena wasn't the only who was asked to meet at the watchpoint.

"Looking good, Jesse," Tracer remarked, noting the new haircut he sported.

"Nice to see you too," McCree replied, opening his arms wide when Tracer shot in for a hug. "Got a cigarette by any chance?"

"Mmhmm. And a lighter if ya need one," Tracer said, digging into her bag for the items. "I thought you were in the United States. Ya know, doing some shady shit with a gang of cowboys."

"Figured I could help Morrison this time around."

"How‘d ya travel out of America freely? Aren't you internationally blacklisted?"

"Bribery and lots of whiskey. Nah, Morrison snuck me out. He has a way of doing things, that's for sure. Especially considering he's still legally dead."

"Where is Morrison?"

"In the laboratory with Winston," McCree said, smiling as he puffed his cigarette. Tracer was well aware that Winston was operating at Watchpoint Gibraltar. She periodically traveled to Gibraltar for chronal accelerator adjustments.

"Winston's not accompanying us on this mission," McCree continued. "It'll just be you, me, and the old fart."

"What the hell are you two talking about?" former Commander Jack Morrison said, slyly coming up from behind the pair.

"Um, just small talk with the time traveler. You know, the usual... stuff," McCree stuttered, adjusting his hat. Tracer covered her mouth and smiled.

"Hm," Jack vocalized. "Thank you fellow comrades for showing up on such short notice."

Soldier 76 proceeded to take out a blueprint of a facility from his back pocket, spreading it over the solitary table in the room. Tracer and McCree gave each other a puzzling look, before circling around the table.

"I received recent intel on a Talon operation undergoing in King's Row. Supposedly, they're going to launch a new God Program very soon. It doesn't look too good. It's likely going to overpower most artificial intelligence in the city and turn Omnic police forces against humans throughout London. And eventually, all of the United Kingdom."

A God Program is a powerful A.I. that is capable of manipulating machinery and omnics, turning them against mankind. A God Program started the Omnic Crisis. Launching a new one, especially in the already tense United Kingdom, would be beyond catastrophic.

"Well, then. What are we supposed to do about it?" McCree interrupted.

"I'm getting there, Agent McCree," Jack said, his patience being tested. "I've located the God Program’s activation site. The facility is located in the city of Algeciras, Spain. Not too far from here."

Morrison pointed to a specific room. "You two will sneak into the facility. Agent Oxton will plant a bomb in this main room while Agent McCree will plant two on the opposite end of the building. Then, trigger them- once you two are safely away from the perimeter, that is."

Morrison cleared his throat. "There will be Talon operatives on the lookout for any intruders and signs of danger. I hope you two masters of stealth are prepared, because if either of you are spotted, this operation is done for."

"There isn't another way to safely deactivate the program?" Tracer asked. Even though Talon was composed of two-timed terrorists, she avoided compromising lives as much as possible. An explosion would surely kill all of the people in the facility.

"I'm not the biggest advocate of this plan either, but with our lack of time and proper resources, it’s the only way we can know for sure that the program won't activate. This is a case of sacrificing the few for the many, Agent Oxton."

"And security cameras?" McCree pondered.

"I guess we'll find out."

"Why can't we get the damn UN to handle this?" McCree asked. "If we alerted the authorities, more-"

"There’s word going around that an increasing number of UN members are becoming associated with Talon. Corrupt bastards. We can't risk Talon knowing that there is intel on their operation."

Tracer glossed over the contents of the map and tightly grasped her pistols. This could mean death, this could mean all or nothing. This feeling. She missed it, albeit reluctantly.

"When do we start?"

* * *

"We've successfully located the base. The entire facility is monitored by personnel... I don't see any immediate entrances or openings," Tracer said over the com, surveying the huge beige facility from 100 yards away. It appeared to be an old factory, and it was on the edge of the sea. Smoke was spewing out of large cylindrical chimneys. Crumbling buildings and vacant ships cluttered the area, creating a post-apocalyptic atmosphere. The area had been evacuated when a chemical spill polluted the water and contaminated most of the agricultural hotspots. Although the region was recovering, it served as a reminder of inattention.

Tracer and McCree went around the facility, searching for the side latch Morrison pointed out on the map. As expected, two soldiers occupied its entrance, each of them handling large machine guns. They wore black uniforms, heavily cladded boots, and shoulder pads with the letter T engraved in them. McCree and Tracer were hiding behind a wall, waiting for the opportunity to get rid of the soldiers.

"Target A found," Lena whispered. "Proceeding with caution. Standby." She acknowledged McCree. "How are we going to get past them?"

McCree rolled between the two large men, stunning them temporarily with his flash bang. The soldiers dropped their weapons, the guns clattering loudly upon hitting the pavement. Tracer took the opportunity to knock one out with the side of her pistol, whereas McCree went behind the other one and choked him out. The sound of the man gasping for air made Tracer wince.

"Like that."

Tracer kept a lookout as McCree searched the soldiers for ID cards. "We've successfully entered the facility. No signs of soldiers in the area, just as you predicted."

"Excellent work," Morrison's husky voice said on the other end of the intercom.

The plan was for McCree and Tracer to split up and place their bombs in the designated areas before anyone took notice of their presence.

"There aren't any security cameras inside the facility," Tracer whispered, tapping her pistol that was holstered on her waist.

"Looks like Talon values their privacy," Soldier 76 vocalized. "Immediately proceed to Targets B and C."

"See ya on the other side, Jesse!" Tracer said rather loudly.

"I will if you raise your voice again," McCree remarked, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Widowmaker ducked underneath the door, standing in a control room with a single pane of light. It was stuffy inside, much to her distaste. She heard footsteps approach her from behind.

"Ms. Lacroix. I've been expecting you."

"Director," Widowmaker said, taking in all of Cain. He was a man in his late forties, and he still retained his muscular and broad features. He was almost a foot taller than the assassin. Widowmaker could tell that he was devilishly attractive when he was younger. His demeanor contradicted his nightmarish dark grey eyes, which stared into Amélie's soul with malicious intent and grave satisfaction. Widowmaker took an immediate disliking to him.

"Well, well. Aren't you a beaut?" Cain commented, staring Widowmaker up and down.

She crossed her arms, unsure if she should be bothered by the gesture. "All soldiers have been commanded to secure the perimeter."

"Perfect," Cain said, his voice echoing off the walls of the room. "You know, I absolutely admired your work in King's Row. Bystanders of the incident said you headshot the dirty omnic midair?"

"That is correct."

"Impressive. Impressive indeed."

Cain ran his fingers over a control panel, looking down at the monitor.

"Agent Lacroix," a frill female said through Widow's earpiece. "Please head towards the main corridor. Standby for further instructions."

"Excuse me," Widowmaker began to say, already halfway out the door.

"Hold that order," Cain barked. Widow heard him cup his earpiece and turn the device off.  
  
Widow turned around to face him, expecting a confidential set of instructions. Instead, he grabbed her shoulders and pinned her against the wall.

She could only freeze up as Cain roughly pressed his mouth against her neck. He grasped her chin, tilting it up slightly.

"Get the fuck off of me," Widowmaker commanded, regaining her voice. She shoved him off of her, wiping her neck with the back of her glove. 

A harsh kick to the knee was what she got in return, causing her to double over in pain. She felt her body temperature rise. Cain was pissed. He shoved her towards the floor, pinning her arms beside her. Widow blankly stared up at him, as if she was completely unfazed by the situation. Quite the contrary was the case. Widowmaker was scared shitless. She didn't dare reach for her rifle bag, which was posted against the wall a few feet away from her.

"Don’t you enjoy this?" Cain hissed, digging his knee into her arm. "If you don't, I can see to it that you will. Isn’t the irony grand? That everything you do, everything you think, everything you feel, everything you are _-_ is not up to _you_?"

His grey eyes. Amélie was reliving her nightmare, reliving the hopelessness of it all. She could only see the person from her dream, looking down at her sadistically. She was utterly petrified, taking the abuse.

"Nothing to say, Lacroix? Just letting me have my way with you?"

Tracer heard the interaction outside of the control room as she waited for an opening. His sardonic tone made every inch of her skin crawl. Fucking degenerate. She blinked forward and football tackled Cain, who only grunted in response. His head hit the side of the wall before he slid to the floor. If Tracer's suspicions weren't confirmed before, they were starting to now.

Widowmaker still lied on the floor, unmoving.

"Shit," Tracer mumbled, kneeling beside her.

"Lena?" McCree's voice buzzed through her ear, startling Lena. "I've placed the bombs at Target C. Safely exited the building. Waiting for you."

"I'm in a bit of a situation, McCree."

"Is everything alright?" Tracer could hear his worry betray his unyielding voice.

"Yeah, I'm- I’ll be fine. Hey, head to the meeting point without me. I'll detonate the bombs when I’m out, which will be soon."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"Jesse," Tracer pleaded, still kneeling beside Widowmaker. "I'll be there before you know it, I promise."

"Fine." McCree hesitated. "Just be careful, Lena."

Widow slowly began to sit up as Tracer placed an almost unnoticeable bomb in the corner of the room. Widow drew in a deep breath and shuddered as her eyes scanned Cain's body.

"Tracer?" Widowmaker said, startling Lena. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm getting us the hell out of here after I detonate these bombs safely away from the perimeter."

"And you think I'll just allow you to blow up the facility and mess with our entire operation?"

"I'm afraid Talon hasn't given me much of a choice. Do you realize how many lives are at stake?"

Lives have always been dispensable for Widowmaker. It was cruel, but it was her reality. "I suppose I do."

"Widow, now is your chance to leave this. All of this. Come with me. Everything will be okay."

"Tracer, I... I can't. I want to believe you, I do."

The sound of multiple footsteps rounding the corridor almost made Tracer faint. She was rapidly running out of options. "Either you and I leave together or we both die here." Tracer raised the remote that would detonate the bombs. The corridor was one way. She was going to be apprehended regardless. Once those footsteps neared her, she would have to make a dire decision.

"Have you lost your mind?!"

"I promise you that-"

Tracer paused mid sentence. She heard voices outside of the room. The two women stared at the doorway in horror.

Widowmaker was quick to take action. Lena yelped as Widowmaker, without delay, grabbed the remote from Tracer's hands and pinned her to the wall. Widow dug her knee into Lena's back. "You think you can get away with this, Tracer?"

"What happened?" one of the three Talon soldiers exclaimed, cautiously approaching the women with his gun raised.

"Our little friend here decided to conduct a surprise attack on Director Cain. Knocked him out. I'll have her apprehended and taken into custody immediately."

"We'll take care of her from here."

"Non, non. I got it."

The soldier raised his eyebrow. "Agent Widowmaker, are you sure?"

"That's a stern order."

Widowmaker's eyes widened once more as Cain mumbled unintelligibly, getting up from his position on the floor. Shit! Did he hear Widow and Tracer's entire conversation? Widowmaker wasn't about to find out.

In one swift maneuver, Widow spun around and grabbed the nearest soldier's gun. They had little time to react. One of them shot back, missing Widowmaker by a landslide. Widow sprayed bullets in their general direction. Tracer ducked, getting her twin pistols out of their holsters. Widow didn't have time to reload as Cain lunged at her, brutally elbowing her. Tracer dashed behind the man, sweeping his legs and shooting him down for good.

"Shit," Tracer said, placing Widowmaker's arm around her neck. Widowmaker was knocked out senseless.

Tracer tightly carried Widow and hoisted the assassin’s rifle bag over her shoulder before promptly dashing out of the room.

Tracer exited the facility the same way she came out with ease. She didn't bother looking behind her as the facility burned up in flames.


	7. Promise

Emily paced back and forth in her room, her head spinning as she thought about her little predicament. She hadn't royally fucked up this bad in months.

Emily was no stranger to long distance. Lena had often spent weeks, sometimes months, away from home. Emily reminisced over those temporary moments of loneliness. She loathed every second. And now, she was in bed with some woman she barely even knew. Again.

Emily always hated herself immediately after her one night stands. Yet, she kept having them, as if they were some type of personal shortcoming, a downplayed addiction. Tracer was completely and utterly oblivious to Emily's little flings.

It is completely normal to want physical attention when you are away from home, right? It wasn't cheating if you didn't feel emotionally attached to the person you were in bed with. Besides, the sexual encounters were entirely that. They were **meaningless**.

_Bullshit, Emily. And you know it. You’ve known it._

The too-familiar feeling of guilt dawned upon Emily. She tiptoed out of the room and exited the hotel without a second thought. She zipped up her sweatshirt and ran down the sidewalk, not entirely sure where she was headed. She just needed to clear her mind.

* * *

Tracer peered at the assassin in front of her, not daring to make a move. She had been watching her for approximately one day, fearing the worst. Yet, the small rises on Widowmaker's chest assured Lena that everything would be alright.

McCree fled to the meeting point and left Tracer a vehicle, allowing her to safely evacuate the location. She made it clear to McCree that she was alive and fine after a lecture over the phone.

Tracer really needed to move. She stood up from her chair and stretched, feeling less tense.

It was apparent that Widow wasn't going to wake up anytime soon. Lena went to her bedroom in order to retrieve her laptop, before once more plopping down on the chair situated in the guest room.

Amélie Lacroix.

Lena plugged in Winston's flash drive and browsed through his files. Amélie Lacroix. It was a beautiful name.

Tracer stopped at a specific page, lingering over its contents. Gérard Lacroix. Important member of Overwatch. Spearheaded operations against international terrorist organizations.

Tracer skimmed over his report, taking note of the dozens of operations he was involved in when Overwatch was operating to its fullest extent.

The list of operations abruptly ended as she read the final note on Gérard's page. Gérard was killed in his sleep by unknown Talon operatives. His wife was kidnapped by Talon twice. She was more than likely deceased.

It was at this moment that Tracer felt her heart sink.

Tracer remembered an instance when several members of Overwatch glossed over the incident in secrecy. Talking about what happened to the Lacroix couple had been some sort of taboo. Tracer had been new to Overwatch; she didn't think much of the "tall tale" at the time. The Lacroixes were dead. Tragic, but forthright.

Widowmaker didn't feel right. A calm tranquility overcame all of her senses, and she felt a warm irritation flicker over her nose. She opened an eye and felt an awkward sense of familiarity.

Widowmaker immediately sat up when she saw Lena across from her, sitting in an uncomfortable looking seat. Lena looked like she hadn't had proper sleep in weeks.

"Morning. You've been out for one day."

"What happened?" was all Widowmaker could manage to say.

"You’re alive, in case you were wondering if this was heaven or not. You got knocked out. The building blew up. I managed to get us safely out of there before it did."

Widowmaker groaned and rubbed her temples. "Where are we now?"

"You're at Watchpoint: Gibraltar."

"So it's true. Overwatch has been operating on the down-low."

There was no point in denying it. "Yeah, something like that. Are you okay?"

Widowmaker knew what Tracer was referring to. "Risky maneuver on your part. You should have left me to die back there."

"Maybe. Maybe not. How do you feel? Does anything hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"You can tell me you're not okay. I'm not Talon, Amélie-"

"Amélie is _dead_."

Tracer decided not to press Widowmaker anymore. Widow was stressed enough as it was. "I just noticed that you have a minor laceration on your left wrist. Probably from that fucker. I'll go get something to help seal it up for you."

Widowmaker looked down at her arm. Sure enough, a cut covered half the length of her wrist.

Tracer came back with the medicinal ointment and gently applied it on Widowmaker, who winced as the pain settled in.

"You're not looking much better," Widowmaker stated, reaching out for the substance. Widow pressed the medicinal fluid on Tracer's cut lips, as if she were shushing the time traveler. Tracer couldn't help but notice just how numbing her touch was. Yet, it was soothing, in a cool-shower-in-the-summer way. Tracer looked into Widowmaker's eyes, which were focused on Lena's lip. Her eyes were an eerie golden yellow, with a tinge of brown.

"What?" Widow asked, noticing Tracer's stares.

"Erm- nothing. Just thinking."

Widowmaker lied down on the bed once more. Tracer missed Widow's careful touch on her lips. She shook the thought away.

"If I leave you here alone, are you going to leave? Run back to Talon?"

"If there were no survivors in the explosion, Talon will believe I'm dead. If that is the case, so be it."

The pair sat in silence, exchanging mutual glances of understanding. Lena cocked her head as she looked at Widowmaker, her mouth twitching slightly as she thought about how she was going to phrase an impending question. 

Lena didn’t need to speak. "I'm fine, Tracer, really. I’ve dealt with worse." Widowmaker remembered uncomfortable incidents from her past, but she shook them off. "You shouldn’t have witnessed that. I’m at fault for not complying-"

"No," Lena interrupted, growing upset. "What happened to you was not your fault. Never was. Never will be. Okay?"

Widowmaker was unaware that Tracer was referring to more than just the incident that played out in the facility.

"Okay?" Tracer repeated, much softer this time.

"Okay."

Tracer's waist suddenly vibrated. Emily. "I’ll be back, I have to take this. Just don’t, I dunno-"

"Move? Break anything? Kill you as soon as you turn your back on me?"

"-Make a sound, for the love of-" Lena quickly shut the door and answered her phone.

"Oh, _now_ you want to talk to me. Only when it's convenient for you, I suppose," Lena said, unable to contain the bitterness in her voice.

Emily ignored her comment. "Lena, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Emily? Is everything alright?" Tracer could hear Emily’s rapid intakes of air on the other end.

"I want to be open with you, I really do. I just... I’ll keep this short. We are obviously going down different paths in our lives, and I just don't want to be in a relationship right now. I hope you understand."

A bitter ball lodged in Tracer's throat. "Em, you’re not making any sense."

"I don’t- I‘m done- I can't-"

"Em, please calm down! We made a promise that we’d always talk our problems out, remember? Em, if you just need a break-"

"I called you so we could be clear on where we stand."

"I know the move was rough. But, we don't give up when things become overwhelming. Is there more to it?"

"Stop it!" Emily shouted, causing Lena to nearly drop her phone. "Don’t- Lena, I cheated on you! I don't expect you to forgive me, and I'm a sorry piece of shit for doing that to you. You've always been honest with me, and I can’t hide that from you anymore. You didn’t deserve that, I don’t deserve-"

Emily hung up, her unfinished thought lingering until it scattered.

* * *

The sunlight shone magnificently through stiffening shutters, the dark hues of the sky faded into the background. Amélie’s woke up, her eyes set on the hanging chandelier, its rhythmic sway gently consonant to the ear. The sunlight wasn’t blinding, the crystallines' music was too gentle... the day was too familiar. 

She knew that she was in her nightmare, and that Gérard would come in the room any second now.

Amélie quickly got up from bed and faced the direction Gérard would be coming from. Instead, Cain appeared in the doorway. Amélie backed up, only to hit a dimly lit lamp behind her. She turned around. She was no longer in her bedroom. There was a lone operating table, with a man lying facedown on it. Gérard.

Amélie rushed over to Gérard, who was unconscious. She frantically attempted to free him from his bonds. She couldn't.

"Leave him alone!" she screamed. "Prenez-moi, s'il vous plaît!"

Amélie blinked. Gérard was gone. She was lying on the operating table. She was tied to the table, unable to break free of her bonds. She looked towards her side, her body tensing as she saw an array of instruments lining a tray. She bloodcurdlingly screamed, but only silence filled the vast room. She wasn't sure whether to faint or cry out. It was so real.

Widowmaker woke up in a frenzy, wildly kicking off the sheets she was situated in. Her ears rang. She wasn't sure when she fell asleep. It was a mistake to do so.

Widowmaker looked outside. It was approximately eleven in the morning. Hm. She was usually an early riser.

Widowmaker got up from the bed and made her way towards the kitchen, where she heard a deafening cacophony. Someone was making food.

"Morning. Slept well?" Tracer asked, putting a cooking pan on a stove.

Widow sat down. "Sure."

Tracer cooked in an uncomfortable silence. Widowmaker had never been in a situation quite like this before. And she had been in many situations. She tapped her toes against the legs of the table, looking down at the floor idly. 

"Do you want a plate?" Tracer asked, looking over her shoulder.

A look of curiosity flashed over Widowmaker's face for a second. "No... thank you."

"You haven't eaten in at least a few days. I'm sure you must be starving."

Widowmaker leaned over the table. "My metabolism allows me to go weeks without food or water. A few days surely won't hurt me, non?"

Tracer pouted and opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. She sat across from Widowmaker, stuffing a generous amount of pancake in her mouth. "You had another nightmare, didn't you?"

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you know that?"

"It's pretty easy to tell by your facial expressions when you sleep."

"You watched me when I slept?" Widowmaker asked.

Lena realized how creepy she must’ve sounded. She often caught herself watching Emily sleep at night, studying her peaceful expressions and admiring the way her eyelids fluttered when she was dreaming. It was different with Widowmaker. Lena studied the way she frowned when she slept, the way her forehead crinkled, the way the subtle horror flashed across her face.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lena asked.

"Non," Widow said, burying her face in her hands.

"Okay. We don’t have to." Lena looked fatigued, her eyes a tinge of red.

"You've been crying," Widowmaker commented, not beating around the bush. "Are you... okay?" Widowmaker hadn't the slightest idea of how to comfort someone in distress.

"Oh. You noticed. I'm fine, love." She forced a weak smile.

"You're not fine. Dîtes-moi."

"Well..." Tracer glanced over at the photos perched on the windowsill, which were always kept at the watchpoint.

"This red haired girl in your photos. Is she the cause of your pain?" Widow asked.

"My girlfriend- ex. We broke up due to… long distance problems. Widow, I don't expect you to-"

"Understand?"

"No! I don't expect you to listen to me babbling on and on about my shattered love life. It's just... I don’t... you don’t expect the person you love to just walk away _like that_. But she is and I don't know how to look forward without her. I can’t just move on and forget, ya know?"

"You’re looking at it the wrong way."

Widowmaker stopped speaking. The steam of Lena’s forgotten pancake slightly obscured one another’s view.

"Remember what you can of her. Don’t waste your time attempting to forget the events and people that helped shape you, because you won’t. We don’t get to choose what fades away from our memory. And she won’t." Widow paused briefly. She couldn't help but feel like somewhat of a walking hypocrite.

"I never knew you gave out relationship advice." Tracer gasped. "Oh my god, you and Reaper are a thing! I've seen the looks you've given each other, but I didn't think-"

"Non! Tuez-moi maintenant, ce serait préférable."

"I'm assuming that's a firm no." Lena placed Widow's rifle bag in her lap. "Salvaged your bag, by the way."

Widowmaker widened her eyes. "Tracer!"

Widowmaker sifted through her belongings before taking out a familiar headpiece. "My tactical visor is equipped with a tracking device."

"Shit!" Tracer said. "I'll get rid of it. I'll-" Tracer looked at the date. "Shit!"

"What?"

"I'm supposed to meet with Wins- with the scientist that developed my chronal accelerator. Ya know, make sure it's working properly." An idea emerged in Tracer's head. "Just toss the tactical visor in the Mediterranean Sea! Nobody will think twice of it, due to the location you died at. Or didn’t die at."

"I suppose that'll have to do," Widow said.

"It's a plan, then." Tracer pushed her plate of toast in front of Widow. "And please eat some breakfast."

* * *

"I know a place where we could get rid of your visor. It's within walking distance."

Tracer ushered Widowmaker out of the watchpoint without anyone noticing. Hardly anyone was there, and the security cameras had stopped surveying the area years ago. Lena and Widowmaker walked over a path of slippery boulders until they came across a cliff overlooking the still waters of the Mediterranean Sea. The rain never ceased to calm, and they were both beyond soaked. Widow sat down, allowing her feet loosely dangle over the edge of the cliff. Lena scanned the area, as if someone had followed them, before following suit.

"Wanna do the honors?" Tracer asked, already handing Widowmaker her visor. Widowmaker shuddered as she took the device away from Tracer.

"Are you cold?" Lena asked.

"No." Widowmaker scraped the equipment with the back of her nails. "Is this supposed to signify the end of my time with Talon?"

"Didn't think about it that way," Tracer admitted.

Jagged rocks decorated the surface of the sea beneath her. How was she supposed to pretend that everything would be okay from here on out? "And then what?"

Lena cupped her ears. "Sorry, love, I didn’t catch that."

"And then what? A dead person can’t pretend to exist."

"You’re not dead and you should strive to live, not just exist."

"Semantics." Widowmaker crossed her arms as she looked down towards the sea. "Wouldn’t be such a bad idea to jump."

"Widow, I know how hard this must be for you. To be stripped away from all you've known so abruptly. But, I promise you that things will only get better from now on. I promise you that you have a purpose in this world beyond Talon. You may not know what it is now, but you will."

"Promise?"

As Widowmaker glanced at Lena with an uncertain expression, Lena knew that she needed to suppress any signs of falter or hesitancy herself. Lena nodded firmly. "I promise."

With that, Widow threw her visor into the torrential sea.

Tracer made sure the coast was clear before smuggling Widowmaker into the room.

"I have to go check up with Winston now. Sure you’ll be fine?" Tracer asked.

Widow nodded weakly in response. 

Tracer was surprised to find McCree in the lab with Winston, puffing his cigarette as he once did back when there was a sense of routine.

"Lena," McCree exhaled, letting out a sigh of relief. "Knew I'd run into you here. What happened back in Algeciras?"

"Ran into trouble with some soldiers. Took em out."

McCree blew smoke out of his nose. "That's my girl. Don't scare me like that ever again, okay?"

"I'll try my best, Jess."

"Did Morrison tell you the news?" McCree said, unable to keep a playful smirk off his face.

"What news?"

"UN’s finally had enough of the unrest in Europe. After our little stunt in Algeciras, in which Overwatch’s involvement will remain _unknown_ to the public, protests erupted demanding that world leaders reestablish several IGOs. The Petras Act was uplifted and we’re getting refunded."

This was the best news Lena had heard all week. Or all year. "No way! Do you think the UN knows that we've been operating illegally?"

"Too late to know for sure. Morrison's been reappointed strike commander. I've been temporarily appointed to second in command. Maybe Morrison’s sudden resurrection was a bad move. Too _early_ to know for sure."

"Wow, Jesse- I don’t know what to say... I know that Winston's recall had been activated. Did anyone answer?"

"We've reached out to everyone who has formally worked with Overwatch. Most are willing to come back. Most."

Lena thought about Angela Ziegler, more commonly known by her callsign Mercy. Mercy had told Lena a while ago that she most likely wouldn't return to Overwatch if it were to reoperate. Lena desperately hoped she would have a change of heart. "Do you know if Angie's returning?"

"She's scheduled to return."

"Agent Oxton?" Commander Morrison said, sneaking up from behind the pair. "May I speak to you in private?"

That was the signal for McCree to tip his hat in their general direction and silently slip out of the backroom.

"Looks like our work’s paying off for the better, Overwatch Commander Morrison!" Lena exclaimed.

"I'm looking forward to serving with you," Morrison said, tipping his head. "I’m sending you back to London while everything gets sorted out. Make sure you’re ready to pack your necessities and move when need be. Please open this letter when you are securely back in London. It's for your next mission."

"Affirmative, Commander."

If there was one thing Widowmaker had, it was patience. She would wait silently for her prey to make one final mistake, one wrong move on their part.

Widow had been sitting in a chair in the same position for hours. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Lena waddled through the doorway. "My chronal accelerator is functioning as intended. Have the whole day to ourselves before I smuggle you into London."

"London?"

"You can stay in my home until we can figure out what your entire, um, _situation_ is. For now, your utmost priority is to keep a low profile."

"And smuggling me into the United Kingdom is keeping a low profile."

Widowmaker stepped into the bathroom and opened one of her bag’s compartments. Her prescribed pills.

Widowmaker counted her supply. _Merde_. She had a few weeks worth, at least. There was a stash of medication in her base of operations in Annecy, France. She would have to go retrieve them on the way back to London just to buy some time. Widowmaker had no clue as to whether or not she could live without the medication.

Widowmaker shuddered. It was an unsettling thought- and an uncertain death. Widowmaker didn't want to disclose this information with Tracer just yet. Perhaps her worries were baseless. Maybe she could go a few days without the medication and see what it would do to her body. Was that a stupid idea?

"I'm going on a slight detour," Widow said. Tracer raised an eyebrow. "I have to stop by Annecy, France in order to grab a few belongings of mine."

"Annecy?"

"My base of operations is located there. It's an ancestral home that Talon knows of. If I were to go into hiding, that would be the first place they’d check."

"Need me to come along?"

Widow remembered what Reaper had told her. There had been several members of Talon that had occupied the home without her permission. Was that a regular occurrence? If there were people still prodding around her base, she needed to get rid of them. And it would be significantly easier to get rid of them if Tracer tagged along. Widow would just have to retrieve the medications without Lena noticing.

"There may be members of Talon at the chateau that we would need to clear out. Just letting you know ahead of time."

"Not to sound pessimistic or anything, but how are we supposed to smuggle you into Annecy, let alone London? I didn't really think this through." Traveling between countries was, bluntly put, a hard task.

"I'll have to sneak into France. I have a passport under the alias Danielle Guillard at my chateau. I can travel via airplane to London from there."

"You’re a genius, ya know that?! Winston mentioned that there was a delivery hauler leaving for Barcelona at the steel mill. Maybe we can hitch a ride- wait, can we go back a bit? A _chateau_? Like a fucking castle?"

Tracer guided Widowmaker out of the room and snuck her onto the hauler before the driver took note of their presence. Lena and Widow uncomfortably situated themselves between large boxes, which appeared to be carrying heavy supplies.

Tracer and Widow didn’t interact with one another, apart from a few glances. Lena's mind tormented her with flashes and fragments of Emily. She threw her head back in a jaded manner, her eyes scanning Widowmaker’s lax posture. Lena focused on Widowmaker’s earlier piece of advice until her voice progressed into the foreground of her memories. Widow’s voice was steady, durable- Emily couldn’t bleed through-

"You're awful quiet," Lena finally remarked, her boredom reaching a new high.

"I don't have much to say."

"We've been in here for three hours. Eight more to go. How are you doing?"

"Confined in a hauler with a former enemy."

"Well, it could be worse."

As Lena began to fall asleep, Widowmaker sat cross legged against the wall, making futile attempts to stay awake. Ever since her first meeting with Tracer, she hardly had a day where she slept peacefully. She was not about to make a fool of herself again, especially in front of Tracer in a confined space.

Widowmaker stared at Lena's innocent face, her breaths shallow as she succumbed to her weariness. Sleep was vulnerability in its finest form. Was it a wise decision on Lena's part to exhibit such a pure form of trust towards Widowmaker? If Widow was in Lena's shoes, she would have bolted straight for the exit a while ago. Yet, here Lena was, sleeping like a baby in front of an infamous assassin.

Lena mumbled underneath her breath, before lazily opening her eyes.

"And I thought I was creepy," Lena said, startling Widowmaker.

"You still are," Widow said. "Can't sleep."

Tracer frowned. "Try to. We will be dropped off at a warehouse I'm familiar with," Tracer said, looking at the time. "It's too risky for us to travel during the evening. I was thinking about staying in the warehouse and traveling in the nighttime in order to- you know, avoid confrontation."

"Mmm. For a supposedly undetectable assassin, I'm certainly hard to miss," Widow remarked. "There will be no need for nighttime travel. Why don't I just hide in plain sight?"

Tracer didn't know where Widow was going with that, but it didn't take long for her to figure it out. Tracer suppressed a laugh. "You carry _makeup_ in your rifle bag?"

Widow smirked. "Someone has to look the part around here." Widowmaker always felt completely and utterly ridiculous when she applied the foundation to her skin, masking its unusual blue color. At least it helped draw less attention towards herself- this rang especially true when she operated incognito under an alias.

Tracer let Widow borrow a baggy coat that she had packed for the trip in order to conceal most of Widow's skin. She watched in awe as Widowmaker applied the makeup on her skin with quick and nimble precision. Even with large sunglasses and a pound of clothes on, anyone with eyes could tell that Widowmaker was attractive.

The women felt the hauler slow down and the brakes engage. They got up from their position on the floor and opened the back latch, sneakily navigating through the warehouse.

Now that Widow was "hiding in plain sight", Tracer knew exactly how they would get to France. "Just went over the details. I have an old Air Force friend that can give us a ride to Annecy if we go right now. Can't take us to England, though. He has special privileges when it comes to international travel, so we won't encounter customs."

"Hm. And you say I'm a genius."

"Is that a subtle compliment from you I hear?"

"You wish. Let’s go."

* * *

"Billy!" Tracer exclaimed, leaping into the man's open arms. "How long has it been? A year?"

"More! It's so great to see you, Lena- Oh, where are my manners? Never introduced myself to your friend- coworker- friend-o-worker! I'm Billy." Billy held out his hand for Widowmaker to shake. Widow blankly stared at his hand before reluctantly shaking it. Billy didn't seem to notice.

"I'll be glad to help you two get to Annecy. It's for an Overwatch operation, correct?"

"Correct," Tracer said. "It's crucial that you don't discuss this others. Danielle and I are on our first mission. Ya know, Overwatch needs experienced pilots. You should consider working with us. I’ll even put in a few good words for ya!"

"I'll look into it!"

* * *

"There is a launchpad across the clearing. You should be safe to land there," Widowmaker shouted over the whir of the wings, her legs semi-entwined with Lena’s due to the lack of space in the crammed "seating" area.

The chateau stood out against the approaching purple sky. Tracer's jaw dropped as she viewed the area through the window. "No wonder your coworkers stay here when they’re in France. Place is practically a hidden fortress." She turned to face the cockpit. "Thanks again, Billy! I'll recommend you directly to Commander Morrison should you still want that position in Overwatch!" Tracer enthusiastically stated.

"Anytime, my friend! Safe travels!"

The women did a clean sweep of the entire chateau before determining the home was clear. Tracer could tell that the frayed ancestral home had been striking in its glory days. Tracer could also tell that someone had been renovating it. Dusty piles of wood and chipped paint cans cluttered the living space. The next thing Tracer noticed was the coat of arms displayed on the dining room wall. 

"Guillard? That's the last name you have for your alias."

"Guillard is my maiden name," Widowmaker said, walking downstairs towards her wine cellar.

"You drink?"

"Occasionally."

"That's what all drinkers say."

Widowmaker briefly smiled at the comment. She grabbed a flask, rolling her eyes at the sight of her reflection. "I want to wipe this makeup off already. I look like an idiot."

"You don't look like an idiot," Lena began. "You look... you look... uhh..."

"Thanks."

"Well, I'm sorry! I don't know how to say you look like a bombshell without making it sound weird."

Widowmaker bewilderingly stared at Lena, making Lena wish she would just die on the spot. 

"Not the artillery shell. It’s informal English. Like... slang... kinda like a babe, or... well, I meant-"

"I know what you meant. And I won’t let you live this one down," Widowmaker said, her prominent French accent allowing the words to roll off her tongue like fine wine. Tracer felt relieved. Widow took it as a playful comment.

Lena explored the dining room while Widow stuffed various items in her bag. A little black widow weaved its web in the corner of the dining room window.

"Met my little friend?" Widow said, coming up from behind Lena.

"I love spiders," Tracer remarked. "They're adaptable. Hard workers, too. I can't imagine how it must feel to make one of the most intricate natural creations, only for some large creature to step in it."

Widowmaker held out her palm for the spider. Lena watched in awe as the black widow crawled all over her hands, before Widowmaker put it back on its web.

"It's getting late. When did you say our departure was?" Widow asked, her tone changing.

"Soon. We gotta head to the airport now."

Widowmaker was hoping that they’d stay a little longer. If only things could be simple. It was too risky to stay there, especially now that Reaper disclosed information regarding unsolicited visitors.

Widow ran her hands over the dining room wall. "Alright. I’ll lead the way."

* * *

"Let’s do another rundown of your background," Lena anxiously whispered to Widow as they stood in line for the security check. 

"You worry too much," Widow replied, tapping her foot against the tiled vinyl floor. "It seems that you need to work on your improv skills, anyhow."

"Widow, I’m seri-"

"Lena Oxton?"

Lena flashed Widow an _I-mean-it-stick-to-the-plan_ look before approaching the gate.

"State your city and country of residence."

"London, England."

"Step in line for screening. Danielle Guillard?" the man behind the security counter said, pronouncing her last name terribly.

"That would be me," Widow said, placing a bag on top of the conveyor belt.

"State your business for traveling."

"Just accompanying my friend over there to London."

"Why? She can't take care of herself?" the man snidely remarked, scanning her card.

"Oh, I'm sure she can. It's just more pleasurable for all of us if I take care of some of her... _sexual matters_ ," Widowmaker purred, causing the man to uncomfortably shift his foot. Lena opened her mouth in surprise.

"Um, okay. Please step in line for screening."

Widowmaker had a special way of dealing with metal detectors. Her gadgets were equipped with an anti PI system, rendering metal detectors useless.

Lena practically pulled Widow out of there as soon as she could, unable to suppress her giggles. "What the hell was that?"

"A tactic. Make them uncomfortable and they won't press you for anymore information."

"Well, what a fucking tactic. Now that that’s over, we can focus on finding the plane and-"

"-Lena."

"Yeah?"

"We’re not wearing any shoes," Widow stated dryly.

Lena looked down at their feet. In a haste to leave, she had, in fact, pulled them out of the security screening before they could put on their shoes. 

Lena retrieved their shoes in the blink of an eye, before urging Widow to follow her to the waiting lounge.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Widow finally asked after some time, walking behind Tracer down a narrow sidewalk. The London street was crowded despite the ungodly hour. It made Widow slightly uneasy.   
  
"I have the metabolism of a squirrel and I haven’t eaten in a day. Hope you're not vegetarian, love," Tracer answered, casually walking into a hamburger joint.

Widow stood outside the diner for several seconds, contemplating whether or not she should follow Lena inside. Lena went back outside and clutched onto Widow's hand, before dragging her into the joint.

Widow sat across from Lena, taking in the retro-like atmosphere. It was reminiscent of the American 50’s, with a statue of a convertible car in the center of the space.

"Come on! When was the last time you've been in a restaurant?" Lena asked.

"Not long ago. In Monaco, actually."

"Oh."

"It was in a casino."

"Wow. How did that go?"

"Well, several people died."

Lena blinked slowly as she stared back at Widow. "Is that, like, sarcasm?"

A waiter appeared before the pair.

"Hola, señoritas. May I get you started with drinks?" he asked.

"Actually, I think we're ready to order," Lena said, looking at Widow.

"May I just get a water, please?" Widow asked.

"Of course. Are you French? I always know when someone can speak the language of love," the waiter said, winking flirtatiously at Widow.

This could not end well. "May I get two chocolate milkshakes and a number 3?" Lena persistently asked.

"Will that be all?"

"Yes!"

After the waiter left, Lena changed the subject. "One of the milkshakes is for you."

"I'm not drinking it."

"Come on, when was the last time you had a milkshake?!"

"Never, actually. I think."

"Woah. I didn't realize how urgent this milkshake mission was! Now you've got to try it!"

"Fine," Widow said, giving into Lena's demands.

Tracer smiled. "So. Have you been conjuring up a plan? I don't suppose you wanna stay in England forever."

"I don't know where to go. What to do."

"Did I tell you that Overwatch is reoperating? Openly this time?"

"What? _Impossible_."

"The Petras Act was just uplifted."

"Hm. So the UN finally had the balls to do it. Let's hope things run _smoothly_ for your organization this time."

"We could use some more recruits." Lena widened her eyes. "Individuals with a specific set of skills. Individuals like... like you."

Widow snorted. "Me? An Overwatch agent? How amusing."

As soon as the food and beverages arrived, Lena looked over at Widow, waiting for her to try the sacred drink. Widow slowly placed the straw betwixt her slender fingers and took a sip.

"Well?!" Tracer pressed.

"It's okay."

"Just okay?"

"Fine. I'll admit, it is a lot better than I thought it would be."

"Mission accomplished! She approves!"

Widowmaker laughed, before taking another sip of her milkshake. "Are you sure you don’t want to take that to go? You look like you are going to crash out at any moment now."

"Oh, really? I’m as awake as can be!"

Tracer practically collapsed when she arrived at her home. Widowmaker was tired, yet she refrained from resting. She was scared of sleeping, scared her nightmares would keep revealing things that would be better off forgotten.

Lena plopped on the couch, snoring soundly as she fell asleep in a questionable position.

Widow posted a leg up as she sat on the windowsill, her eyes fluttering as she fought to stay awake. Her eyes dashed around silhouettes of miscellaneous objects, before briefly settling on Lena's form.

From the beginning, they were like a dance of water and fire. Widowmaker understood her fighting style as reserved, decisive; Lena was swift, opportunistic. They were able to counterbalance each other, and understand one another’s movements. In that sense, Tracer had stood out as an opponent. 

"This is the second time you've refused to sleep," Lena murmured, interrupting Widow's train of thought. "You don't want to have another nightmare."

Widow feebly shrugged.

"Try to get some rest. This is unhealthy, even for you."

"I just..." Widow started to say, her voice trailing off.

Tracer waited patiently for her to finish her sentence. She never did.

"When I used to have night terrors, my grandmother always put a drop of lavender oil on my pillow. Relieves anxiety. Wanna try that?" Tracer asked.

Widow nodded, her head down as she tapped her fingernails against the windowsill. Lena found the mannerism as somewhat endearing. She placed two drops of lavender oil on Widow's pillow and placed the vial on the bedside table.

"I… apologize," Widow said, "for making you do this at 4 in the morning."

"No need to apologize, love. I just hope it helps."

"Lena?"

"Hm?"

"I... I appreciate the things you've done for me," Widow said, making an effort to sound sincere. "I just wanted to get that out there."

Lena nodded. "You’re welcome, love. Rest nicely, okay?"

 **Prenez-moi, s'il vous plaît.** **Take me, please.**

**Dîtes-moi. Tell me.**

**Non! Tuez-moi maintenant, ce serait préférable. No! I would rather you just kill me now.**


End file.
